


Challenging to Control

by lalalyds2



Category: A Series of Unfortunate Events (TV)
Genre: Bisexual Murder Girlfriends, F/F, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Teasing, jealous Esmé, sex on a balcony
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-18
Updated: 2020-10-18
Packaged: 2021-03-08 21:54:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,139
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27083722
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lalalyds2/pseuds/lalalyds2
Summary: Georgina is not one for philosophical ponderings about the ethics of hypnosis.She’s a pragmatist.She hypnotizes when it’s necessary and lies that she hasn’t when it isn’t.However, as she watches her girlfriend pace stridently across the bedroom floor, ranting and raving about a party she wasn’t even invited to, she wonders how wrong it would be to hypnotize her lover into being quiet for half a second.It wouldn’t be wrong—in her opinion—but it would be a rather dick move.
Relationships: Georgina Orwell/Esmé Squalor
Comments: 2
Kudos: 10





	Challenging to Control

**Author's Note:**

> listen, georgina & esmé are too hot & i'm having a conniption about it

An unnecessary fact about hypnosis is that it is, in fact, about control.

It’s about lulling one’s victim into a false sense of security (even if it’s for their own good, or not) and bending attention to one’s will.

Creating a particular focus and suggesting strongly what to do with it.

Culminating compliance to the point of complete and total obedience.

Control.

And the thing about control is that, in opinion, it is all the more satisfying when it’s fought for and hard won.

Of course, controlling people through hypnosis when they don’t want it is highly unethical.

It’s invasive, offensive, potentially destructive.

And it’s also probably wrong.

~*~

Georgina is not one for philosophical ponderings about the ethics of hypnosis.

She’s a pragmatist.

She hypnotizes when it’s necessary and lies that she hasn’t when it isn’t.

However, as she watches her girlfriend pace stridently across the bedroom floor, ranting and raving about a party she wasn’t even invited to, she wonders how wrong it would be to hypnotize her lover into being quiet for half a second.

It wouldn’t be wrong—in her opinion—but it would be a rather dick move.

“Esmé, I told you.” Georgina pinches the bridge of her nose, breathing out her frustration. “I don’t choose who gets in.”

“But you do choose who to take as a plus one!” Long fingernails tap on an agitated forearm, Esmé glares at Georgina through the vanity mirror. “And you chose Gustav—of all people!”

Georgina stays quiet as she peruses Esmé’s collections of eye creams and moisturizers, sniffing a peach-scented one before dabbing a bit onto her hands and warming it between her palms.

“You would have hated anyone I chose because none of them were you.”

She misses Esmé’s scowl as she lotions her face.

It’s still felt, in spades.

If she had a more compassionate state of mind, she’d get Esmé’s ire.

The VFD’s annual party is so exclusive it’s basically a semi-kept secret even for its own members, and for someone so obsessed with the _In_ -est, it’s hard to feel so thoroughly left _Out_.

But Georgina doesn’t have that compassionate state of mind, and Esmé is wearing her patience thin.

“Well, what does Gustav have that I don’t? I’m so fabulously wealthy and charming!”

Georgina ignores that last bit and reaches for her, pulls at Esmé’s crossed arms until they loosen, gently drags her down into the vanity seat beside her.

“Now Esmé,” she says slowly, the thick gravel in her tone the kind she usually uses for eye exams but works equally well for soothing salty tempers.

“You know there will be other parties, and you know you’ll be there with me.”

Soft fingers dab lotion on the blond woman’s face, thumb pads swirling comforting circles on the high points of her cheeks.

Esmé sighs, closing her eyes as she’s temporarily appeased, before grumbling, “I still don’t understand why not _this_ party, or why you chose _him_.”

Georgina kisses the Cupid’s bow of her mouth, to quiet her and also because she wants to.

“I chose Gustav because I could hypnotize him into giving me his secrets, and also to keep mine.”

Esmé’s lips chase to press a firmer kiss against Georgina’s mouth.

Peach overwhelms her senses.

Somehow Esmé’s arms have wound their way around her neck.

“I can keep secrets.”

Georgina’s hum is noncommittal, but her arms snake around Esmé’s waist, pulling her close till she’s practically falling on top of her, thighs warm and squeezing around her own hips.

“There’s no insurance like hypnosis.”

Esmé sharp nails traverse the sharp line of Georgina’s jaw, settling to scratch lightly on her neck.

She presses a kiss to the shell of her ear before whispering, “I can be hypnotized.”

Georgina shivers twice for two different reasons.

It’s pure fervor that she kisses her again and again, rising lust as she palms the smooth expanse of Esmé’s thighs to slip under fabric and up even farther.

Esmé bucks into her touch, a whimper escaping and dissolving on Georgina’s neck where her lips have latched onto a pulse point.

“You could do that to me,” she continues, nails digging points into Georgina’s back through thin fabric. “If you wanted.”

What Georgina wants right now is to be swallowed up in Esmé, to take her right at this vanity chair and twice in bed and maybe once while getting there.

“I could do that,” she agrees, leaning up to capture Esmé’s mouth once more. “It would be easy.”

Esmé halts in her lap.

“Did you just call me easy?”

Georgina pauses, bites her lip, assesses the situation.

The tone is surprised, insulted even. Esmé’s brow is arched high.

But her pupils are positively blown black, and she’s still warm and relaxed and thrumming against Georgina’s practiced hands.

Georgina takes a gamble, leans in closer, and says, “ _Yes_.”

She is practically devoured.

It’s heady and lush, how Esmé rolls against her, filling her up with want so badly she could burst, a tongue in her mouth and an ache between her legs.

Quick hands work at the buttons of her pajamas, shirt flung off so skin meets Esmé’s silk slip. It’s still too much clothing. Georgina clutches the hem in one fist.

“Take it off.” She demands.

Esmé acquiesces, pulling it halfway up, flashing pale, perfect skin, before pausing.

“On second thought,” she settles the slip back down, primly gets up and off Georgina’s lap, stands. “Better not.”

She stretches her arms languidly, looking composed as anything, towering above a very bewildered Georgina.

She grins, pats her jilted lover on the cheek, and walks off, tossing a “I know you love a good challenge, darling,” over her shoulder.

“And maybe next time you’ll think twice about who you invite to dinner parties.”

And then, with Georgina still aching and openmouthed and topless, she leaves.

~*~

When Georgina makes her way to bed (pajama shirt reluctantly put back on), Esmé is resolutely ignoring her and reading the newspaper.

Georgina reads the back of it as though it contains the secrets to Esmé’s labyrinthian mind.

“Just so you know,” comes Esmé’s voice behind the periodicals.

“Sex is _Out_ , celibacy is _In_.”

Georgina reaches over and pinches her girlfriend’s silk-covered hip. There’s heat still pulsing dully at the apex of her thighs.

“You’re a goddamned liar and a tease.”

The newspaper never lowers, but Georgina can feel the grin aimed at her.

She can feel it on her back as she turns over and forces herself to fall asleep.

~*~

The second night, Esmé takes new clients to dinner so Georgina is left to her own devices in her empty apartment.

“You’re rotten.” She tells her over the phone (because Esmé had insisted on calling her goodnight).

“I know.” Esmé’s voice is gleeful and not a bit sorry.

“You know, you’re more likely to get what you want by acting in a sweet way than this... distasteful way.”

Esmé hums low, as close to a purr as anything.

“You want me to be sweet?”

The words vibrate deep down every vertebra. Georgina wills her spine not to arch, clears her throat.

“ _Yes_.”

There’s just a moan.

Long and filthy.

“Esmé—”

The phone goes click.

~*~

They play keep away for a week, Esmé chasing Georgina’s desire, then leaving her cold the second she’s interested.

It’s infuriating, and she’s had enough.

There’s a secret meeting at a public function (a rather boring lecture about a newly discovered species of fungus or some such nonsense), and though Georgina barely cares for the theatrics of her own organization, she pounces on the opportunity to go.

Invites Esmé, of course (is dramatic enough to send an actual invitation) and plans what she’s going to wear.

Naturally, she chooses things Esmé is sure to hate.

If her girlfriend is so set on being the only person she takes with her to clandestine happenings, Georgina’s going to make sure she knows what she’s in for.

~*~

Upon seeing Esmé again, Georgina’s heart jumps to her throat.

Makes her almost change her mind about getting even.

Esmé is all glamor on display, draped in emerald silk held up by gold strands. Plunged down in the front, slit high up the thigh, completely backless. Gold dust scattered over taut muscles.

She shimmers against the modest backdrop of the wooden lecture hall, completely out of place, absolutely gorgeous, and utterly pulling focus.

Georgina wants to say, “let’s just forget this silly game and fuck.”

Instead, she says, “I don’t think you get how covert operations work.”

“I know what they look like,” Esmé gives her an exaggerated once over, taking in the plum (which was _Out_ ), the pantsuit (also _Out_ ), and the velvet (enormously _Out_ ). “I’m not impressed.”

“Interesting you say that,” Georgina tucks Esmé’s hand into the crook of her elbow, grateful ( ~~regretfu~~ l) the velvet keeps the talons at bay as she pulls her eye candy into the lecture hall, her ugliest wooden cane caught between their linked arms. “Considering you’ve kept out of my pants in attempt to get into theirs.”

Esmé ignores this, flippantly stating, “Well you should be wearing a dress, darling. Or at least a skirt.”

Georgina lets her cane slip down a little.

Esmé trips, clutches tighter so she doesn’t fall, glares so hot she could melt glass.

“And I hate that cane.”

Georgina tuts, lips pursed in the condescending way she knows her girlfriend despises.

“Someone’s in a mood tonight. And after I invited you out to a dinner party like you asked.”

“I did _not_ ask for this. This is _not_ a party, and we are nowhere near your fancy secret headquarters.”

Georgina just pats her hand.

“Perhaps you should have asked a little more nicely.”

~*~

The lecture is truly, hideously dull.

If Georgina thinks so, she can only imagine how Esmé is suffering.

She looks over.

Esmé is suffering.

Good.

What’s a little suffering, if not a teachable moment?

She can’t wait to make it worse.

“Esmé,” she says quietly, eyes trained ahead at the lecturer before them. “Tell me what you’re wearing.”

She can practically feel the relief flooding through Esmé’s system, the delight at finally being able to discuss what’s the most important to her—how very, very _In_ she is.

“Would love to darling, do you like it?” Esmé whisper-preens. “It’s a Rasario and it cost a small fortune, which fortunately I have, and—”

“No, Esmé,” Georgina interrupts, letting her voice go low. “I meant underneath. Tell me what’s underneath.”

Esmé pauses, senses where Georgina’s going with this.

Visibly squirms.

“Nothing, darling.”

“Nothing?”

She gives a near imperceptible shake of the head.

“You know it ruins the lines of silk.”

Not daring to move her head or even her lips too much, Georgina nudges Esmé’s leg with the tip of her cane.

Silk parts.

Skin flashes.

“So you mean to tell me.”

The polished cherrywood rubs against the inside of Esmé’s knee. A small but sharp inhale as it ghosts there, slowly warming with friction.

“You came to a lecture about mushrooms wearing nothing but a slip and glitter.”

Esmé’s hips wriggle the slightest bit, bumping the cane higher up her thigh.

“It’s very _In_ right now. Makes me look divine.”

“Makes you look desperate.”

The cane taps on her once.

“Debased.”

Twice.

“ _Depraved_.”

Three times.

Esmé’s legs clamp together on the rod, halting its movement.

She gives Georgina a look that’s almost pleading.

“I _hate_ that cane.”

Georgina’s grin is like a knife, dangerous and glinting.

“Then maybe you shouldn’t be such a fucking tease.”

Esmé shudders, releases her vice like grip on the offending object.

Clenches her fists and bites her tongue as Georgina starts again.

“Maybe next time you’ll think twice about who is in control.”

~*~

Esmé escaped out before the lecture had finished.

Georgina’d had half a mind to follow after her (kindly finish her off in some secluded bathroom), and half a mind to cruelly leave her pouting by herself outside.

The latter had won out.

She’s been cross with Esmé for an entire week. Esmé can stand to be cross for an hour.

Still, as sleepy people file out the auditorium doors, she walks a bit faster.

There’s mingling and complimentary refreshments, but all thoughts of coded messages from secret companions had fled Georgina’s mind.

She just wants to find Esmé, and fast.

She does so on the second-floor balcony.

Esmé’s back is turned to her, the blonde woman alone and staring out into the beach that skirts the town.

Georgina comes up behind her, tapping her cane with every step so Esmé knows it’s her.

Those gold-dusted shoulders tighten.

“I suppose you did that with Gustav as well?” Esmé snips.

“No.”

The shoulders relax.

Georgina pokes the back of Esmé’s knee with the cherrywood’s tip.

“ _Gustav_ wore underwear.”

Esmé whirls around, grabs the cane in one quick swoop and flings it into the sea.

They wait a bit before hearing the splash.

“You’re buying me a new one.”

Esmé growls in the back of her throat, turns to Georgina, grabs her by the velvet lapels, and kisses her forcefully on the mouth.

“You’re infuriating.” She hisses, licking Georgina’s bottom lip before nipping it sharply between her teeth.

Georgina takes the bite in stride, a hand on her lower back to pull her closer. Esmé squeals as Georgina’s cold rings make contact with her warm skin.

“And you’re irrationally jealous.”

Esmé pulls back, a flash of something in her eyes, only to lean in again and kiss a line of lipstick red down Georgina’s chin.

“You’ve never chosen anyone over me like that before.”

Georgina softens, takes the fists from her coat and kisses the knuckles.

“Gustav was easily hypnotized and easily disposable. You, Esmé, are not. You’re too important.”

The statement is as plain as day. Esmé smiles as though it’s a new declaration of _In_.

“You do like a good challenge,” she agrees.

“And you are certainly challenging.” Georgina also agrees.

Esmé rolls her eyes but kisses her much sweeter than she had before.

Georgina enjoys the change of attitude for a moment before she takes Esmé by the hips and spins her around to face the ocean again.

“Now Esmé, tell me what you see.” She demands. Esmé quivers in her hold, already excited at the seemingly rough grip.

“The balcony?”

“Don’t you mean the place I’m going to finally make you cum?”

The blonde swallows hard, leans the full length of her body back against Georgina’s velvet front.

“I did mean that.”

Georgina kisses the side of Esmé’s neck, grabs those taloned hands and places them flat on the coarse granite railing.

“Don’t you think you should be good now and do as I say?”

“I do think that.”

“And Esmé,” Georgina curls her arm around the taller woman, pushing past silk to palm her breast, cold-ringed fingers twisting the hard-pebbled nipple. “I am in control.”

It’s not a question.

She doesn’t hesitate to answer.

“ _Yes_.”

Georgina snakes a hand down, pushes up the slit in Esmé’s dress, comes to find her lover already sticky and dripping from earlier teasing.

“You’re so wet for me, princess,” she coos, a sudden burst of affection swelling in her chest, fingers sliding artlessly on all the slick. “You didn’t touch yourself while you waited for me, did you.”

Esmé pushes against her hand to gain traction, whimpers when she can’t, shakes her head no.

“Do you want me to touch you?”

“Fucking hell— ” she bursts out. “ _Yes_!”

There’s a sharp smack to her hipbone, ricocheting through her cunt and igniting a deep throb.

“What did I tell you about asking nicely?” Georgina demands.

Esmé arches back into her hips, head pushed onto her shoulder, presses a searing kiss to Georgina’s jugular.

“Please touch me, darling, or I don’t know what I’ll do.”

The last half sounds like a threat.

Georgina takes her time, circling Esmé’s clit a few times before sliding into her, two fingers knuckle deep.

Esmé keens and rocks down, pulling them in further.

The hand that had been on her tits moves up, cupping the front of her throat, catching the throb of vitality in her pulse.

“That’s it,” Georgina says in time with her thrusts, guiding Esmé’s hips by rolling them with her own against every deep push of her insistent fingers.

“Do you think you can take more?”

Esmé sobs a “ _Yes_.”

Can only chase those dastardly fingers as they pull out, can only moan as her cunt stretches to add another.

She reaches back to tangle hands in Georgina’s hair, receives a smack on her other hipbone.

She gasps and nearly orgasms right then and there.

“Keep your hands on the balcony Esmé,” Georgina reprimands. “And do keep your voice down.”

In the heat of the moment, she’d forgotten where they were. It comes back to her and she’s breathless and so turned on she can barely stand it.

“I can’t last much longer,” she warns, moaning as Georgina’s thumb rubs harsh on her clit.

“I didn’t say you could come yet.” Georgina stops thrusting, still buried deep, forcing Esmé to chase her own pleasure.

“Darling,” she cries. “ _Please_.”

Georgina renews her efforts, stroking fast and hard, determined and ruthless.

“Be quiet,” she whispers, “bite down if you have to.”

Esmé kisses a soft spot on Georgina’s neck, suckles the pulse point to let her know she’s ready.

“Alright Esmé, be a good girl and come for me.”

She does instantaneously, clenching hard around Georgina’s fingers, biting skin purple as sounds try to escape her in euphoria.

Her muscles tighten as every nerve sings, the beach melds to sky as her eyes are overwhelmed with stars.

Esmé lets go of granite to clutch at the arms holding her up, so strong and steady against her as her body trembles elation.

She sighs as she finally stills, spilled out and utterly satisfied.

Georgina pulls away her fingers and Esmé whimpers at the loss, sensitive and a little stinging, turning around to kiss her lover fondly.

“I could do that for hours,” she says, blinking happily.

Georgina laughs, holds up her soaked fingers to Esmé’s mouth.

“Start with cleaning the mess you made.”

Esmé does so with enthusiasm.

~*~

The thing about control is, in Georgina’s professional opinion, it is the best when given freely... after a very satisfying competition where she ultimately wins.

She wins on the car ride home from that stupid lecture, and once against the back of Esmé’s front door, and a few times more that same evening.

Also, she’s got a new cane that Esmé swears will always be _In._

She decides she kind of likes a jealous Esmé.

That’s probably wrong, but it leads to so many scenarios that end so very, very right.

And she doesn’t need to think twice about that.


End file.
